


Silk (Hiding Steel)

by SilverBird13



Series: Rule 63-Verse Series [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Identity Porn, Oral Sex, Rule 63, is this crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:38:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverBird13/pseuds/SilverBird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Make love?  You’re a fool like your mother.  You were her whore four times after supper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silk (Hiding Steel)

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I can't let this series die. I'm anticipating this won't be the last of this 'verse, but I have a few projects going on, so we'll see. Enjoy!

Javert allows herself two cigarettes and an hour of pacing Montreuil-sur-Mer after every time they make love ( _Make love?  You’re a fool like your mother.  You were her whore four times after supper)._  
  
 _Madame la Maire does not fall back and sigh as one would think she of the gentle smiles and lemon-scented hands would.  She ruts like an animal, like a bear, hard and slick and victorious in pleasure as she collapses onto the setee._  
  
The walk back to her apartment is what Javert despises the most, more than the gracious hellos, the foreplay of dinner, the anxious moments as the wine is ignored ( _more than, though she’d never admit it, the fact that she is never invited to stay_ ).  
  
 _“Oh, Javert, my naughty girl, you’d do that?  Lick at me as though I were an-?  Oh, oh!”  The trail of tongue and heat of mouth and cries of supplication are question and answer enough._  
  
Oftentimes, Javert makes her way to the peace of the empty shore, careful to avoid the mess of the docks when she is not on duty ( _would they have been her destiny if not for this uniform?)_  
  
 _Madame la Maire, much to Javert’s irritation and delight, seems to reveal more mysteries than answers every time she opens her legs.  She attacks with mouth and teeth and passion, yet nothing more than her gown and shoes ever are peeled away, even as she strips the melting Inspector beneath her with all the fervor of a fallen disciple._  
  
Tonight, the stars burn dimmer than Javert’s cigarette stub, and she finds little comfort in their remote eyes ( _how horrifically ironic, she thinks with a smirk_ ).  
  
 _“Javert, you are distant tonight.  Is there another?” The slow trail of hands down her curving waist and the way the woman strokes her breasts like they are not mere flesh stops any answer she could possibly provide from surfacing._  
  
The night before she is due to receive the reply from Paris, Javert keeps her for twenty heartbeats before taking her leave, finding the chill air warmer than the arms of a ( _no longer_ ) unknowable woman.  
  



End file.
